Dear Stranger
by Miri Tiazan
Summary: My answer to the WIKTT Daddy Long Legs challenge. Hermione loses both her parents and all her money. Desperate, she accepts an offer from an anonymous benefactor to pay for her schooling. HGSS. Updated after a looooong hiatus.
1. Prologue

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_I received my Hogwarts letter today. After the death of my parents in December, I have been spending my summer at The Burrow, with Harry and Ron._

Hermione took a deep breath. They'd been dead for almost seven months, and it had yet to stop hurting. Biting her lip, she continued.

_They've been very supportive about it all, but there is one problem that no friendly sympathy can solve. My parents were never very wealthy: they got along with their dentistry practice, but there was very little extra money around._

Her parents had tried so hard, but they had always been rather generous with their money. They had often treated some of their less affluent patients for only a small portion of the actual cost of the procedure. The reality was that money was often a bit tight. Hermione blinked suddenly misty eyes and continued.

_The crux of the matter is, I cannot possibly afford Hogwarts this year. The books and materials alone would suck up the greater portion of the funds I have remaining. Tuition is an impossibility. I am writing to ask if there are any scholarships available for people in my situation. I haven't told Harry and Ron. Ron would invariably feel guilty, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would try to pay for things that I know very well they don't have the money for. I know Harry would offer me any money I need, but he will need that money some day, and I don't know when I would be able to pay it back._

_Please respond as soon as possible._

_Yours truly,_

_Hermione Granger_

Hermione bit her lip, then sealed it and gave it to the owl before she could change her mind.

Severus Snape slouched into his chair and wished devoutly to be anywhere other than a staff meeting. He hated staff meetings. Rolanda Hooch invariably attempted to hit on him, Sybil Trelawney always foretold a fresh painful way for him to die, and the Headmaster insisted on twinkling incessantly at him the entire time. He was in the midst of mentally reciting all the ingredients for a Deflating Draught when a name caught his attention.

"Miss Granger," Albus was saying, "wrote to me this morning asking about wizarding scholarships. Apparently the deaths of her parents have left her in dire financial straits. I couldn't think of any. I was hoping one of you might have a suggestion?"

All the other teachers shook their heads. Severus knew very well there weren't any scholarships available to Hermione—any scholarships that did exist were sponsored by blatantly elitist groups violently opposed to muggle-born students at any wizarding school.

The Headmaster looked grieved, shaking his head sadly. "A pity," he said inanely, "that something cannot be done. A very great pity, to lose such a powerful witch for such a reason."

Severus was outraged. One of the most brilliant students in Hogwarts' long history to be denied an education for something as trivial as money? It was intolerable. Something had to be done. In his distraction, he completely missed the knowing glance shared between Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall.

Two days later, an owl fluttered into the kitchen at The Burrow. Hermione took one look at it and tore upstairs to the room she shared with Ginny, hastily ripping it open.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I'm afraid that there are no scholarships available, even to a witch of your abilities. However, there is a solution to your problem. An anonymous benefactor has come forward and offered to pay for your tuition, any school books or materials you may need, and a generous allowance to cover any other expenses you may have. His only condition is that you write to him at least once a week and tell him of your progress. He will not write back; he has "no time to waste writing foolish letters," as he put it. He also would prefer that you not bother thanking him, as he has little patience for such nonsense. If this is acceptable to you, please respond immediately and the arrangements will be made._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus__ Dumbledore_

Hermione didn't even stop to think. She picked up her quill. _Dear Professor Dumbledore…_


	2. Back to Hogwarts Part I

Hermione finished stacking her schoolbooks on the desk she had claimed for her own with a decisive thump. Lavender and Parvati had elected to share the remaining desk, as Hermione would easily be spending twice as much time studying as they. The desk seemed to reflect this attitude: already it was strewn with make-up, pink stationary festooned with hearts, and copies of _Witch Weekly._ Her roommates themselves were stretched out on Parvati's bed, heads together as Parvati animatedly described her summer encounter with an Italian teenage wizard.

"…and so I said, wow, Fabrizio, of course I'd _love_ to go with you to your villa…"

Hermione snorted. Leave it to Parvati to find a rich, dumb Italian Romeo on her summer holiday. Turning, she noticed for the first time a plain leather journal with a note pinned to it lying on her bed. Curiously, she picked it up, admiring the quality of the letter and thick, heavy parchment. The familiar weight of a book felt reassuring in her hands. Setting it down on the bed, she opened the note.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I'm certain I mentioned that your benefactor expects you to write him at least once a week. This journal is what you are to write in. Everything you write in it will appear in a matching journal that he has in his keeping._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus__ Dumbledore_

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, looking down at the journal. She flipped through the pages idly. Well, it certainly seemed a more efficient system than regular owls—especially since she would have no idea where to send the owl. Shrugging, she picked up a quill and began to write.

_Dear Sir:_

_Thank you. I know you said you didn't want to be bothered with thanks, but I can't help it. You have no idea what this means to me. I will be grateful to you for the rest of my life. And now, since I'm sure you're already sick of the subject, I promise I will say nothing more about it._

_You need a name. "Dear Sir" seems so horribly stilted and formal. I can't possibly write every day to an ambiguous "Sir". You simply have to have a name, and since you refuse to tell me yours, I have to give you one myself. I toyed with the idea of calling you Daddy Long Legs, but I eventually decided against it—I'm not a big fan of spiders, actually. (I wonder if you are at all acquainted with Muggle literature?) Instead, I'm afraid I hit upon an even more trite title for you. You're my new fairy godfather._

_You even have an elaborate guise to go with your new role. You look rather astonishingly like Professor Flitwick, actually—short and bouncy. You wear shiny emerald robes two sizes too big, with a pointed hat that falls down over your eyes and funny shoes with curled-up toes. You squeak charmingly when you talk, and you have the kind of eyes that twinkle incessantly, rather like Dumbledore's, and you have whiskers that tickle your nose when you sneeze._

_Lavender Brown is grumbling at me to put the light out, as some people are trying to sleep. I probably should go to bed anyway—tomorrow's Double Potions, bright and early. Judging from the scowl Professor Snape sent my way during the Welcome Feast, it should be eventful. So, my Fairy Godfather, good night._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

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**Author's Note: Sorry I took so long to update. Unfortunately, I had no internet access for a while, so while I was writing, I couldn't post it. Anyway, here goes some review replies.**

**Zvezdana**—I didn't actually mean for Dumbledore to give Snape away, but hey, he's Dumbledore. He's allowed to be facetious. As for Hermione immediately figuring it out, I find I disagree. No, she is not stupid, but neither is she clairvoyant. It is obvious to you and I that that is a very Snape-ish thing to say. We notice that because we're looking for it. We have the advantage of knowing that Snape actually IS the mysterious benefactor. Look at it from Hermione's perspective: he's her snarky potions professor, who doesn't particularly like her. Why would he give a damn about her problems?

**Xela**** Lupe**—Thanks! ::blushes::

**Kaaera**—Wow, your name is hard to spell. It's cool, though. I like it. As for your question, have you read _Daddy Long Legs,_ by Jean Webster? It's based on that. If you haven't read it, I highly recommend it. I loved that book.

**Javen**** Green**—Wow. You're so nice. I love comments like yours.

**Redone**—I was hoping she wouldn't, actually. Guess, that is. I didn't mean it to be so obvious. For more detail, see my reply to Zvezdana, because I'm too lazy to type it again.

**Nocturnus**—That's really sweet of you. Thanks so much!

**Deeble**—Thanks! As for the rest of your review, check out my response to Zvezdana. A few people caught that, it seems.

**Doomspark**** Deathfire—**Thanks! Hope this lives up to my beginning.

**Also thanks to Hope, Lost in the Forest, Lilyoftheshadow, reviewer, Imogenhm, and Duchess792003. All reviews appreciated, constructive criticism welcome.**


	3. Back to Hogwarts Part II

**Author's Note: Here we go with the second part of Back to Hogwarts. The reason it's in two parts is a long and complicated story. You don't really want to know. All review replies will be posted with the next chapter. Thanks!**

* * *

Professor Severus Snape kicked back in his favorite chair and took a sip of his brandy, opening the journal to see the latest bit of nonsense Granger had written.

_Dear Fairy Godfather,_

_My first day of classes went well. I am once again partnered with Neville Longbottom in Potions; I wonder if Professor Snape has some particular grudge against me. It's not that I don't like helping Neville, exactly—it's simply that he has an incredible talent for blowing things up. Cauldron Number One went up today. Snape was scathing, as usual. I suppose it's comforting, in a way, that at least something in this crazy world will always be the same._

_Charms promises to be fascinating this year.__ I can't wait to start Apparition. Finally, a way to transport myself that involves neither broomsticks nor airplane meals. It seems too good to be true. There must be a catch._

_Ron insists that there's already a catch. He doesn't seem to understand that fifty pages of Charms reading hardly constitutes the fatal flaw to a mode of transportation. Just wait until he and Harry see my revision schedule for NEWTs._

_But I have to go. Charms homework beckons, and Harry and Ron seem determined to drag me off for a game of Exploding Snaps._

_Hermione_

His eyebrows shot up. She found him comforting? Not exactly what he'd been aiming for. He wondered if he was losing his touch. Then again, perhaps not. Granger had always been… unique. The frustrated hand-waving in her first year came to mind. He usually scared most first-years into cowed silence after the first few weeks, if not the first few minutes.

He glanced back down at her ridiculous nickname for him and snorted. Her Fairy Godfather, hmm? If only she knew.


	4. Halloween

The days passed for Hermione in a whirl of academia. She ate, she slept, she went to Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron, and she studied. She even occasionally managed to get the boys to study with her. And so it was that she hardly registered the passage of time until she walked into the Great Hall one day and noticed the jack-o-lanterns suspended over everything.

"Today's Halloween?" she asked the boys, reaching for a piece of toast. Ron stared at her.

"Tell me she's not serious, Harry," the redhead asked dramatically.

"I'm afraid she must be," Harry answered with great pathos. Ron's eyes rolled up and he slumped onto the table. Hermione kicked him.

"Grow up, Ron."

"Ow!" he said indignantly, rubbing his shin. "It's true, you know. We've hardly seen you. You've been buried in the library all year."

"I've been revising," Hermione defended. "NEWTs are this year, you know."

"Yes," Harry told her, "we know. How could we forget? You remind us every day!" Hermione crunched industriously on her toast. "We understand you want to study," Harry informed her seriously, "but you're going over the top. Even you need to take a break once in a while."

"Yeah," Ron added. "Live a little. We all know you learned everything in the seventh year curriculum by fifth year anyway."

Hermione never knew how they did it, but before Transfiguration the boys managed to extract a promise from her that she would go to the Halloween ball that night. She supposed she would go. After all, she could use a break from her studying.

.

"Oh, no," Parvati said in a tone of absolute dismay. "You aren't going to the ball in _that_, are you?"

"Why?" Hermione asked defensively, smoothing down her classic black sweater and pencil skirt. "What's wrong with it?"

"Well…" Lavender hedged. "It's just so… bland."

"Boring," clarified Parvati. "You can't wear that."

Somehow Hermione ended up in a chair in front of the mirror with Lavender doing her make-up. Parvati was digging in her closet for something to lend Hermione to wear, and some anonymous sixth-year that Hermione barely knew was doing something to her hair that Hermione was convinced defied the laws of physics. Hermione slipped into the dress and turned around.

"Well?" she asked her fashion consultants.

"Wow," Parvati said. "That dress never looked like _that_ on me. You look amazing, Hermione."

"Elegant, yet provocative."

"Sexy, but sophisticated."

Hermione turned to the mirror. The black dress had a deep vee neckline, accentuating breasts that went unnoticed in her school robes. Lacy straps framed her collarbones, and the giving material framed her curves perfectly, the hem hitting just above the knee.

Light eyeshadow made the warm honeyed brown of her eyes stand out, and a little blush and bronzer accentuated her cheekbones. Lip gloss softened her mouth from its usual scholarly lines to something wholly and completely feminine. Her hair was swept up and cascaded gently from the back in perfect auburn ringlets.

"I look… good," Hermione realized wonderingly. She almost didn't recognize herself.

Parvati, Lavender, and the sixth-year attempted to look modest. Hermione grinned and made her way down to the common room to meet the boys.

"You look very nice," Harry told her, kissing her gently on the cheek.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said, blushing. Ron was staring at her, open-mouthed. "Ron, are you okay?" she asked. He looked a little dazed. Maybe he was sick. He shook his head and smiled sheepishly at her.

"I'm fine."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Harry questioned impatiently. "Let's go!"

.

Severus Snape directed his most withering glare at a slightly tipsy sixth-year Hufflepuff giggling inanely at him. When he made eye contact with her, she jumped, hiccupped, and mumbled something about getting some fresh air before making her escape.

He sighed. He hated these parties. Why he had allowed Albus to convince him to chaperone he could not fathom. Oh, no. He remembered now. It was the twinkle. That infernal, treacherous twinkle. He would twinkle at you, and offer you a lemon drop, and before you knew it you'd be agreeing to the latest mad scheme the old crackpot had come up with. Severus wondered darkly what the headmaster put in those blasted lemon drops.

Lost in his ruminations, Severus perused the crowd of inebriated sixth and seventh years. He dimly noted Potter and the Weasley girl making sheep's eyes at each other before his gaze landed on the Weasley boy. He looked utterly besotted. No doubt mooning over some unfortunate young woman he wouldn't appreciate. Severus snorted and followed his glance… and gasped in shock.

What had Granger done to herself? She looked… incredible. Beautiful. His collar was suddenly much too tight. His eyes followed her almost against his will.

As if she could feel the weight of his gaze on her, she turned around, saw him, and smiled a little dreamily. She made her way over to him, swaying slightly, and promptly passed out at his feet.

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**Author's Note: New chapter! Yay! Just FYI, I've been having a bit of writer's block on the section after this, so updates will probably be slower until I get past that. That said, review replies!**

**Rosmerta: I must say, at this point I have trouble distinguishing fanon from canon. It's funny, but I always find myself surprised when people I'm talking to don't believe that Snape is actually not a git.**

**Thumper: I did see the movie, but I didn't really like it. This is actually much more based on the book by Jean Webster, which if you haven't read, you should, because it's amazing. I loved it. Well, Harry wouldn't work out for many reasons. First, he's got a crapload of money in Gringotts. Second, if by some freakish chance he did lose all his money, someone else would certainly intervene before Snape could. Third, Harry and Snape would not work out together at all.**

**Also thanks to Imogenhm, Droxy, Deeble, Jerica, Aliesha, Lisa, Celest-Wikit, Tiffany, Promising-Silence, Diamond004, Crissy, Buxom-Wench, Hp-lover-fifi, Bree Mcgregor, Starlight, BewitchingWitch, Xela Lupe, Javen Green, Jan McNeville, and Indianpipe.**

**All reviews are read and lovingly kept close to my heart. You guys are great! Thanks!**

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	5. The Morning After

Hermione awoke to a fuzzy, bad taste in her mouth. The Hogwarts Express was roaring past. She cracked open an eyelid. Oh, no. That was Parvati snoring.

Groaning, she levered herself out of bed and went in search of some toothpaste. What in Merlin's name had she done last night?

.

_Dear Fairy Godfather,_

_Somebody spiked the punch last night. As a result, I've concluded that alcohol is a lot more fun when you know you're drinking it. I've also learned two new interesting pieces of information._

_1. Hangovers suck. Whoever spiked that punch, his balls are mine._

_2. I think I may be losing my mind. The details are a bit fuzzy, but I'm reasonably certain that last night I was wondering what it would be like to snog Professor Snape. Even more disturbingly, now I really want to find out._

_Hermione_

Severus choked on his morning coffee. She hadn't just said that! Had she?

.

Snape was staring at her again. Between perfectly identical slices of shrivelfig, Hermione stole surreptitious glances at the potions master. Why was he looking at her like that? As though he was seeing her for the first time.

Absently preventing Neville from substituting powdered newt for powdered skrewt, she continued to slice her shrivelfigs. Was there something wrong with her hair? She furtively smoothed it back, still watching him out of the corner of her eye. No, that wasn't it. She tried to remember what she had eaten for breakfast that day. Could there be something caught in her teeth? A quick tongue-swipe eliminated that one too. He wouldn't stop staring at her! Caught in a morass of self-consciousness, she failed to notice that Neville was stirring counter-clockwise instead of clockwise. The resulting meltdown caught her entirely by surprise.

"Thirty points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, and help Mr. Longbottom clean this up."

Simmering at the injustice of it all, she did.

_._

_Dear Fairy Godfather,_

_Are you really a fairy? I think you must be. I now have an image of you as a gay New Yorker who spells his name Bradd with two D's. You talk with a lisp and put more styling gel in your hair than Lavender Brown. You also have a disturbing tendency to borrow my clothes and try to redecorate my room._

_On a completely different note, Professor Snape is driving me crazy. I don't understand him at all. He was glaring at me for thirty minutes in Potions yesterday. I was convinced there was something caught in my teeth. I was so distracted, I couldn't concentrate at all. Maybe it's his new strategy to make Gryffindors' lives hell. Unnerve people so they lose concentration and make mistakes, thus allowing him to deduct points. What am I thinking? Snape never needed a reason to deduct points. I'm over-analyzing this. I need another opinion. Maybe I'll take a poll._

_Neville managed to do in Cauldron Number Five while Professor Snape was distracting me. The number of cauldrons he melts seems to be directly proportional to the difficulty of the potion he is working on. I'm considering suggesting a career in demolitions._

_Hermione_

Severus swallowed a snort of laughter. She was tallying the number of cauldrons. Who knew the Gryffindor know-it-all had a sense of humor? But that fairy comment. Preposterous. Styling gel and a lisp? Surely not. He found himself chuckling anyway.

He looked back at the second paragraph. Had he been staring? He couldn't remember. He ruthlessly quashed the whisper in the back of his mind that that was not a good sign.

.

"Check," Harry said in satisfaction. Ron replaced the threatening white bishop with his own black knight.

"Checkmate," he answered. Harry groaned.

"I guess I should know better by now than to try to beat you at chess," Harry admitted ruefully. "I'm done for the night."

"What about you, Hermione? Want to play?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, looking from Ron to her History of Magic essay. "I still have another six inches left."

"Come on," Ron wheedled. "That essay isn't due for another week at least. Please? I promise I won't beat you too badly."

Hermione laughed. "Okay. But just one game."

Harry surrendered his chair to her, but looked speculatively at Ron. This was new.

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**Author's Note: Review replies!**

**Gracie Jane: Do I sense some bitterness, there? Well, at least you'll have a good book to read whenever you've been drafted to babysit.**

**CassandraTheEvil: I know. I considered going with an all letters story, but then decided I liked this way better. More fun to write.**

**Celest-Wikit: Oh, you did? I actually have that dress, but I don't have anywhere to wear it. ::sigh:: Oh well.**

**Imogenhm: It seems like as soon as I break through one wall I hit another. I am making some progress, though.**

**Also thanks to Rosmerta, Droxy, Kaaera, crystalclear8050, Samilia, Silly Bandit, and Laughing Fountain. All reviews read and admired by me, the author.**


	6. Hogsmeade

_Dear Fairy Godfather,_

_I sat down to write my Christmas list today and started crying. It's my first Christmas without my parents._

_I miss them so much. They survived Death Eater threats for years, only to die on their way to a cruise in Italy after Voldemort's defeat._

_WHY?_

_It's just not fair._

_Here's my Christmas list:_

_1. __Ginny_

_2. __Harry_

_3. __Ron_

_4. __Parvati___

_5. __Lavender_

_6. __Professor McGonagall_

_7. __Professor Dumbledore_

_I'm so pathetic. I have no friends._

_Hermione_

.

Hermione picked at her toast. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, the first weekend in December. She and Harry and Ginny and Ron had all sat up the night before, laughing and talking, making plans to go together to Hogsmeade and do their Christmas shopping.

It was also the anniversary of the day her parents had left on their second honeymoon, celebrating their twenty years of marriage. The day they had gotten on a plane and never gotten off again.

At her right, Ron was piling potatoes onto his plate with a will, completely and gloriously unconcerned with anything other than his breakfast. Hermione couldn't help but smile a little at his preoccupation—a clutch of angry Hungarian Horntails could fly bellowing through the Great Hall and Ron wouldn't look up from his eggs.

Ginny slid in to a seat next to her. "Are you okay?" she asked hesitantly. "You look… a little tired."

Hermione knew how she looked. She'd stared at her reflection in the mirror that morning for a depressed twenty minutes. She had shadows under her eyes, her face was pinched and wan, and her eyes were red from crying herself to sleep after her friends had left. She smiled weakly. "I'll be okay. It's just… today was the day. You know."

Ginny nodded. "I know. I just wanted to make sure you know I'm here for you. If you need to talk, or anything."

Hermione looked back down at her toast. "Okay. Thanks, Ginny."

.

Hermione and Ginny trudged through the rapidly deepening snow on the road out of Hogsmeade, loaded down with packages. Their noses and cheeks were red from the cold, and Hermione's hair stubbornly escaped even the most determined efforts to keep it confined under a hat, fanning out in a frizzy auburn profusion around her face.

"Ginny," Hermione asked suddenly. "Where did Harry and Ron go?"

That was when the snowball hit her in the back of the head. A second one impacted with Ginny's shoulder. Harry and Ron popped up out of a drift, laughing. The girls exchanged glances, and dropped the shopping bags in the snow. Hermione packed a snowball. This was war.

Hermione lobbed a missile at Ron. The loosely-packed snow impacted and showered all over his front. She didn't have time to grin in triumph, as she had to quickly duck to avoid his returning volley. At some point she and Ron had gotten separated from Ginny and Harry.

Picking up more loose snow, she darted toward the redhead and dropped it down the back of his shirt. She didn't expect the root hidden under the wet snow. Tripping, she flailed wildly on her way down, bringing Ron down with her.

He landed half next to her, half on top of her in the snowbank. Flushed and breathing hard, she stared at him staring at her. In the next instant, the moment was broken as he reached out and washed her face in snow.

Cold, wet, and happy, purchases reclaimed, the four trudged into the courtyard of Hogwarts, talking and laughing. Severus glared down from his tower window, alone with a glass of good brandy and a discourse on fifteenth century potions. Granger looked up, eyes alight with laughter, and waved cheekily. Scowling, he turned back to his book.

_._

_Dear Fairy Godfather,_

_I've done all my Christmas shopping. I wish I could get you a present, but wouldn't know who to give it to._

_I wouldn't know what to get you, anyways. For my squeaky fairy godfather with a pointy emerald hat, I would get thick woolen socks. It gets cold at night in the winter, even for magical little men with curled-up shoes._

_For Bradd with two D's, I would have to get a gift certificate from some trendy store in New York; he'd be certain to cluck sadly over anything I'd pick out and be consumed with the desire to make me over._

_Buy yourself something nice and say it's from me._

_Hermione_

**

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**

**Slowly chipping away at my writer's block... I'm getting there. Unfortunately, I'm not going to have computer access for the next couple of weeks, so updates will be later than I would prefer, and then after that I'll be really busy, but I promise I will try to keep steady updates. And now, review replies!**

**Rosmerta****: None of the above. You'll figure it out soon enough. And if you don't, then I handled it clumsily and will have to figure out a more suave way of writing it in.**

**Kaaera****: I have no idea. Does it matter?**

**Laughing Fountain: Well, duh, you'd either agree or disagree. What other option is there? LOL.**

**Smartchic****: Yes, I'm planning on it.**

**Miss Elvira: If you get a chance, I would appreciate it if you could tell me exactly where the errors were… Thanks!**

**RandomReviewer****: Thanks! I'm glad you like it. And you should definitely read it. You'll really enjoy it.**

**Also thanks to Silly Bandit, Midnight Princess, Droxy, Christine, Ravens Dragon Wing, Imogenhm, xmaverickf14x, Otherside2, Gracie Jane, Momsangel, and LilyoftheShadow. As always, all reviews will be admired and marveled at by yours truly.**


	7. Christmas

Hermione was feeling thoroughly sorry for herself. Snuggling further into her cocoon, she sniffled miserably into the white infirmary blanket. Madame Pomfrey had taken one look at her, declared it best gotten over through time and a lot of fluids, and unceremoniously bundled her into an infirmary bed. Hermione thought it decidedly ironic that the mediwitch could regrow bones but could do almost nothing about a simple case of the flu.

Hermione rolled over, turning her face toward the door. Harry and Ron had been by earlier, trying in their clownish way to cheer her up. Her lips turned up wryly at the memory. They were idiots, but she loved them.

After about an hour, Madame Pomfrey had thrown them out. Right now, her two best friends were enjoying Christmas Eve together in the Great Hall. She was alone in the Hospital Wing. All alone.

If she was home, she would be in her room, under her quilt, in her bed, drinking the tea and honey her mother would invariably make for her. Her parents would crowd in with her, and they would sing Christmas carols until they were all nodding. Her heart squeezed in her chest. She turned her face into pillow and quietly cried herself to sleep.

.

Hermione shifted, on the edge of waking. A soft rush of air brushed gently over her face. Stretching, she opened her eyes. Dim morning light was just beginning to shine weakly through the frosted windowpanes of the castle. She became suddenly aware of a soft weight against her ankle at the foot of the bed.

Sitting up, she reached for the brown paper parcel and cautiously ripped it open. It was a crimson cashmere scarf, exactly the hue Hermione most liked. Brows creased in puzzlement, she picked up the note that had fluttered to the bedspread. The words were written in the standard swooping Dictoquill script.

_It has come to my attention that you are in need of proper winter clothing. Don't catch another cold._

_F.G.___

Feeling suddenly warm, Hermione wrapped the scarf around her neck and snuggled back under her covers. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

_Dear Fairy Godfather,_

_I don't know how you knew that was my favorite shade of red. The scarf is beautiful. Thank you._

_Hermione_

_._

_Dear Fairy Godfather,_

_I'm booooored. And yes, the elongation was excessive, but so is the need to do something. _Anything._ Madame Pomfrey won't let me out of the castle, and sweet as my two idiot friends are, all they want to do is play Quidditch in the snow._

_I've studied for NEWTs all the way up through the end of sixth year in all of my classes, and it's not even the beginning of the second semester yet. Christmas break seems as though it means to last forever._

_What am I going to do?_

_Hermione_

Hermione sat in the library, casual in jeans and a sweater with the scarf wrapped around her neck. She was staring fixedly at her Charms textbook. For once in her life, she had absolutely no desire to study. Seemingly out of nowhere, the potions master swooped up behind her.

"Miss Granger," he breathed. "I thought I would find you here. It seems you've been knocking about the castle at loose ends. I might as well put you to use. Be at my private lab at seven this evening. Don't be late."

He was gone as soon as he had come, in a swirl of black robes. Hermione didn't bother to wonder why she was feeling so satisfied.

At seven o'clock sharp, Hermione rapped at the door of Snape's private lab. At his curt, "Enter," she walked into the room to see him marking papers while monitoring a gently simmering cauldron. He nodded to a small worktable with a pile of fresh herbs. "Mince those finely, and if you cut yourself, don't bleed all over the rosemary."

Hermione grinned and set to work. Mincing efficiently, she asked, "Professor?"

Not looking up from his papers, he answered, "Yes, Miss Granger? You cannot possibly have finished all of those yet."

"No, sir, I haven't, but I have a question." Of course she had a question. She always had a question.

"Yes, Miss Granger, what is it?"

"Well," she began, "I was wondering why exactly you are making burn ointment."

"Not that it's any of your business, but Madam Pomfrey is running low on many of the basic medicinal potions, and I am doing her a favor and replenishing her stores."

Hermione absorbed this, still rhythmically mincing. "In that case, sir, why are you using ginger?"

Snape put down his pen. "An interesting question, Miss Granger…"

_Dear Fairy Godfather,_

_I've made a discovery. Amazingly, I think Professor Snape might actually be a normal human being. Incredible, isn't it?_

_I was mincing ingredients for him tonight, and when I asked a question, he not only didn't seem annoyed, he answered. We had a fascinating discussion about the uses of ginger in medicinal potions, and he was actually civil, though just as acidic as he usually is. I really learned a lot. I wish he was like that in class._

_Hermione_

* * *

**Yay! I finally updated! A word of warning, though: with the approaching advent of academics and other time-consuming nonsense, I fear updates will once again be slower. It's sad, but inevitable. And now, everyone's favorite part... ::drumroll:: Review responses!!!**

****

**Rosmerta: You're not slow on the uptake. Looking that bit over again, it's doubtful that even I would know what I was getting at there. Most people didn't even really notice. As to why Severus has a tower room... Does it ever explicitly state in canon that he lives in the dungeons? Why couldn't he have a room in Serpens Tower? Yes, the entrance to Slytherin house is in the dungeons, but it leads up to Serpens Tower just the same. But your room of requirement idea really is a nice thought.**

**Strega-in-progress: PtQ fan? You can stop hitting the wall now. And for one thing, if Snape had choked to death, there would be no story. I wouldn't have a second protagonist. For another thing, that's such an awful way for him to die. He survives Voldemort to choke on his coffee? Tragic.**

**Silly Bandit: I believe it says in the summary that it is HGSS. Ron's just in there for the fun of it.**

**Laughing Fountain: It's all your fault. It was SUPPOSED to be depressing. And the Sox are awesome! So ha! LOL.**

**Talon McGreggor: That review is going to keep me in a good mood for the better part of this week. Thanks so much!**

**Skadi: I'm not quite sure what you mean by slower time. Could you possibly explain that a little? I really appreciate your input. Thanks!**

**Also thanks to Imogenhm, Celest-Wikit, Kaaera, Crissy, Tall Freak, Gracie Jane, MidnightPrincess, Dark, Aellyr, Blade McKay, Miz, Ehlonna, Jessalin, Diane, Babydoll125, and Artemis Moonclaw. As always, each review will be read and admired with loving care.**


	8. Detention

Severus glared down at his coffee. Black, no sugar. Just the way he liked it. Nice and bitter. Over at the Gryffindor table Weasley was finishing Hermione's eggs for her.

"More toast, Severus?" Albus asked next to him.

"No, thank you," the potions master snarled. Now she was laughing at something he'd said. Clown. Scraping back his chair, Severus swept out of the Great Hall, robes billowing behind him. The headmaster watched him go with a gentle chuckle. No one bothered to ask him what was so funny.

-

Severus strode into his seventh-year potions class and began writing ingredients on the board. The staccato sound of the chalk sounded angry, confrontational. Hermione wondered absently what had put him in such a bad mood. He turned around.

"Today," he began, voice smooth as silk and welcoming as ice, "you will prepare the Befuddlement Draught. You have fifty minutes. Results will be assessed at the end of class. Begin."

Snape settled behind his desk and made a pretense of marking papers, occasionally rising to patrol the room and loom over potential troublemakers. He spent a great deal of time glaring over Weasley's shoulder, hoping to detect a mistake he could deduct points over. Much to his disappointment, Weasley acquitted himself creditably, scraping by with an acceptable potion.

Hermione was last in line with her finished potion. About to give her a perfect grade, as usual, Snape caught Weasley flashing her a wink. He took the potion, scowled at his best student, and said, "Detention, Miss Granger. Eight o'clock tomorrow night. This potion is completely unacceptable."

"What?" Hermione cried. "Why? What was wrong with it?"

"It's the wrong color," he told her as he poured it down the drain. "You added the asphodel at the wrong time."

Fuming, Hermione collected her books and walked out of the classroom.

_-_

_Dear Fairy Godfather,_

_I take it back. Snape is a git. A complete, utter git. Today in class he was completely irrational. He told me my Befuddlement Draught was the wrong color, which it wasn't, that I had added my asphodel at the wrong time, which I hadn't, and then threw it out and told me I had detention tomorrow night to brew it again correctly. Detention! The greasy old bat gave me detention, and I hadn't even done anything this time! I hope all his lionfish rot._

_Hermione_

He hadn't been irrational! Weasley had been flirting with her! In class! It was bad for discipline. Ruined concentration.

Fingering his hair absently, he frowned. What did she mean, _this_ time?

-

Hermione walked into the classroom precisely at eight. Snape, seated at his desk, nodded at the ingredients laid out for her. "All the ingredients for a Befuddlement Draught are there. You may begin."

In frigid silence, she sat down and started her potion.

Severus watched her between each appalling third-year essay. She worked with precision and efficiency. Any other day it would have been relaxed and casual, but this evening her body was taut with anger. She positively exuded ice.

When the potion was complete, she neatly bottled it and cleaned up her work area. Chillingly polite, she offered the flask for his inspection. At his, "Satisfactory, Miss Granger," she turned on her heel and headed for the door.

"Miss Granger," he said softly. She turned to face him, arms crossed defiantly.

"Yes?"

"Would you be interested in a position as my assistant for the remainder of the school year?" He noted her surprise with satisfaction.

"I… Yes," she answered finally, looking at him uncertainly. "Yes," she repeated more firmly.

"Excellent," he confirmed. "We'll discuss the details later."

She walked out of the classroom in complete befuddlement. Just when she was convinced he was a total bastard, he turned around and was almost… nice.

* * *

**I finally updated! I apologize for the long wait; my real life reared up and ran away with me. I did some reorganization, and I think I'm finally getting it under control, so everybody cross their fingers and hope I have time to write. Updates will be slower, but I will do my best to get one in regularly. And now, everybody's favorite part, review replies!**

**Laughing Fountain: I'm afraid you are time-consuming nonsense, but I volunteered for it. And now that I've shaken off all mindless academic sycophants, I'll have more time for nonsense like you! Woot!**

**Kaaera: Oh, great. What did you think?**

**Rosmerta: I don't know if she will, at least at first. But once she finds out who he is, I'm sure everything will click into place. She is, after all, a very clever witch.**

**Gracie Jane: Wow. A Jacuzzi for your mind. Haven't heard that one before. I'm flattered.**

**LynneElf: I'm hitting the same brick wall you are. Fear not, the feeling's mutual.**

**Snapefan51: I'm glad Snape meets with your approval. I'm always afraid I've made him too… something. I don't know what. As for Cosmo from FOP, I feel hopelessly foolish, but who is he?**

**RandomReviewer: Why? Why? The suspense is killing me!**

**Talon McGreggor: I am so glad you like Hermione. And I'm thrilled that an update from me merits a dance. That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.**

**Sabi: Yes, I am in school. Unfortunately, that seems to want my time more than this does. Grrr.**

**Also thanks to Invisible Voice, Bree Mcgregor, bookwmnjan, artemisgirl, Droxy, Artemis MoonClaw, Amanda, angelfish2, imogenhm, Makalani Astral, frech, CrystalClear8050, Miss Elvira, cecelle, Ehlonna, emilyshka, Tima-san, and hp-lover-fifi. As always, I will keep all your reviews close to my heart and take them out on a rainy day to brighten it up.**


	9. A Potion

The next morning at breakfast Hermione watched a big barn owl flap towards her seat at Gryffindor table. She blinked a little in the breeze from its wings as it back-flapped to land in the middle of the breakfast table. The bird proffered a leg with dignity, looking haughtily down its beak at her. Hermione gave it a piece of toast and opened the note. Scrawled in the familiar crabbed handwriting, it read, _Thursday at seven?_

Looking up to the high table, she nodded. She would be there.

Wednesday and Thursday passed in much the usual manner: Ron and Harry clowned around, Hermione nagged them about their homework, and as always, they went to class. Sitting in History of Magic on Thursday afternoon, Hermione found her attention wandering. She'd read ahead on the lesson, and Binns' gently droning voice wasn't doing much to keep her interest. She'd given up taking reams of notes in her third year when she realized that not once had Binns' subject matter ever deviated from the reading assigned in the syllabus. Harry, sitting next to her, was drawing racing brooms; on her other side, Ron was folding a piece of parchment into an origami frog. Hermione rolled her eyes.

She wondered why Snape needed an assistant. Was he doing research on some new potion? Maybe she would get to work with him on something really complex. Or maybe, she thought more cynically, he was just going to give her all of his first-years' marking to do.

She noticed with a start that everyone else was packing up. Was class over? Ron picked up his bag and gave her a quizzical look.

"Coming, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head to clear it. "Yes, just a minute, Ron." Ruefully, she slid her books into her bag and followed her classmates out the door.

Later that evening, standing in front of Snape's lab, Hermione smoothed her hands nervously down her sides and checked her hair one last time. As she should have known it would be, it was a mess. She sighed. Too late to fix it now. She knocked on the door.

She jumped as it swung open. Professor Snape was over by the supply shelves, pulling down various jars. "Come in," he told her over his shoulder, reaching for a jar of lacewings.

She walked slowly into the center of the room, closing the door behind her. Snape deposited various potions ingredients on the lab bench and regarded them skeptically for a moment, then crossed his arms and looked at her.

"How much do you know about Memory Potions, Miss Granger?"

_Dear Fairy Godfather,_

_I had hoped Professor Snape would be working on something more than simple medicinal potions or a new brand of cauldron cleaner. I thought maybe he would let me help him with some really tricky potions. But what we're doing is even better!_

_Snape is working on modifying common memory potions, trying to come up with one that not only spurs the memory but calms the mind and promotes clear thought. He outlined the general plan to me tonight—if it works, it could help people like the Longbottoms get a piece of their lives back. Within limits, of course—I know now that the naïve things I used to believe about magic aren't true. A flick of a wand or draught of a potion can't solve everything, but it's a start. Heaven knows Neville would be thrilled if his parents even got so far as recognizing him when he visits. Therapeutic care could work wonders._

_I really do have to go to bed—the lab session went much later than either of us expected it would, and I have Charms bright and early tomorrow morning. But I had to share my excitement with someone, and let's face it, Harry and Ginny are too preoccupied with hoping the other one doesn't notice them casting lovesick glances at each other to care about much of anything, and as for Ron… Better not to even try, really. His eyes glaze over at the first mention of anything really academic. Although he has been acting a bit odd, lately. He still nags me about studying so much, but recently he's stopped making rude noises whenever I bring up the NEWTs, and he looks a bit flushed whenever he's with me. I wonder if he's feeling well._

_Hermione  
_

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**A/N: ****Thanks to everyone for their support, and all the sporadic reviews that have trickled in over the many (many) months it has been since I updated last. You may not think those make a difference, but they did actually prompt me to look back at the story and chip away a little more at the roadblock in the plot. At this point I do actually have the full text of the story written--I may yet do a little editing, but you should see regular updates over the next several weeks until we reach the end. Once again, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the story!**


	10. Trouble ABrewing

Hermione sat in the middle of the common room floor, two notebooks open in front of her and half-open potions texts spread in an uneven halo around her. She pensively sucked on her quill, then scribbled a quick notation in the second notebook. Ron, coming in through the portrait hole, stopped dead and regarded her with an expression of horror.

"Sweet Merlin," he breathed. "That's not _assigned_ for Potions, is it?" He looked vaguely ill at the idea.

"Hmm?" Hermione queried, still nibbling on the quill as she looked at him. "Oh, this? No. Professor Snape has asked me to be his lab assistant. I'm doing research for a potion he's working on developing. It's fascinating, really. Right now I'm compiling a list of possible additives, cross-referenced by their properties, as well as doing a bit of general background research."

"A bit?" Harry asked amusedly, looking up from his chess game with Seamus Finnegan. Hermione made a face at him.

Ron looked very slightly green. "Of course you don't mind all the extra work, Hermione, but do you really want to spend all that extra time with Snape?"

"That's Professor Snape to you, Ronald Weasley," Hermione scolded, softening her words with a wry smile. "But really, he's not that bad. I don't mind his sarcasms, and once you get past the cutting comments he really is brilliant."

"Sure," Harry agreed, grinning wickedly. "All that light reflected off the grease in his hair…"

Hermione threw her quill at him.

.i.

Hermione stared at the lumpy sweater Mrs. Weasley had sent her, along with accompanying masterpieces for Harry, Ginny, and Ron—belated Christmas gifts, as Mrs. Weasley had gotten a bit behind that year with her holiday knitting. It was Gryffindor red, of course, and it had a strange yellow blob on the front that Ron assured her was meant to be a lion. She valiantly resisted the urge to burst into tears.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, eyebrows drawn together very slightly. "Are you all right?" Ron looked up from the fudge he was unwrapping.

"I say, 'Mione, you do look a bit ill. Are you sure you ought to go down and help Snape tonight?" He looked a little ill himself. "All those slimy, crawly things…"

Hermione looked at her watch. "Oh, no, I'm late!"

"Hermione…" Harry said uncertainly, but she was already out the portrait hole.

.i.

Hermione arrived at the lab three minutes late, flushed and uncomfortable. Snape tutted. "Punctuality, Miss Granger, is of the essence."

Hermione bit her lip and set upon disemboweling the newt corpses piled in a gruesome heap on the lab table. She took a kind of morose satisfaction in it, working through them briskly. Snape leaned over her shoulder, perusing the grisly row of ruthlessly eviscerated newts. "The idea is to disembowel them, not ritually sacrifice them, Miss Granger." He swooped around to the side of the lab table. "Admirable as your very Gryffindor enthusiasm for your task is, Miss Granger, it is not particularly suited to the exact discipline required for potions-making."

She turned white. A wiser man might have noticed and taken warning, but Snape continued uninterrupted. "Regrettably, the fine art of subtlety seems to have been lacking in your early education. An oversight on your parents' part, I'm sure."

She threw a dead newt at him and promptly burst into tears. And not artistic, martyred tears, either. Full out, eye-reddening, undignified runny-nose sobs. More unsettled than he cared to admit, Severus picked the slimy body off of his robes and observed Hermione warily. He wasn't accustomed to crying women—as a rule he avoided them like the plague. The occasional student sniveling in his class was rarely a problem; they either stopped quickly or were tossed out. But Hermione showed no signs of stopping any time soon, and under the circumstances he hardly thought it would be appropriate to throw her out into the corridor: even he wasn't that much of a bastard.

"Miss Granger," he attempted. "Please calm yourself." The crying did not noticeably abate. He tentatively placed his hand on her shoulder. "Hermione," he tried again. He was startled and somewhat alarmed when she suddenly turned and buried her face in his shoulder. Rather awkwardly, he patted her back as she hiccupped and gasped.

"There, there," he endeavored. "Hush." The hiccups slowly degenerated into watery sniffles as he continued to rub her back, making what he hoped were soothing noises. Amazingly, he wasn't more than mildly put out by the rapidly expanding wet splotch on his teaching robes, or the fairly needy way she clutched at him. He supposed he was going soft; years of Dumbledore's infernal lemon drops rubbing off on him, perhaps.

He maneuvered carefully into a sitting position in the one comfortable chair in the room, then froze as she immediately curled up against him, still not removing her face from the safety of his robes. Slowly her breathing quieted, and her taut body relaxed into him. She was sitting crosswise on his lap, fingers curled into the front of his robes, face buried in his shoulder. Her chest rose and fell in a steady, even cadence.

Severus was uncomfortably aware of the trusting way she was curled into him; it had been years since anyone had been this close to him. He could smell her shampoo, feel the warmth of her breath against his collarbone, even through the heavy robes. He hoped she could not similarly feel his body's reaction to her.

"Miss Granger," he said softly. "Hermione." She murmured indistinctly and snuggled closer into his body. He sighed gently. She had fallen asleep.


	11. Awakening

Hermione woke the next morning with a feeling of disorientation. Where was she? She rolled over and promptly fell off the narrow sofa and onto the cold stone floor. Hermione stared at the ceiling for a moment and then slowly sat up, wincing at the stiffness in her neck. She was in Professor Snape's office, still in her robes with a blanket wrapped around her, and the professor was nowhere to be seen.

Lavender and Parvati watched her walk into their room with undisguised interest. Hermione was not in the mood for their silly innuendos.

"Fell asleep in the library," she informed them shortly. Lavender made a little moue of disappointment and returned to her make-up. Parvati, less subtle, sighed openly. Hermione rolled her eyes, and retreated into the bathroom.

.i.

Red-eyed and not a little groggy, Hermione made her way to her usual desk in the front of the Potions classroom with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes. Safely arrived at the lab bench she shared with Neville, Hermione made a conscious effort not to fidget. What had happened last night? It was all muddled in her mind; she wasn't sure what she'd said, and she was almost afraid to think about what she might have done.

The door banged as Professor Snape made his usual dramatic entrance, swooping out of his office towards the front of the class. Not being quite brave enough to meet his eyes, Hermione stared resolutely at the glass jar of… something… sitting on his desk. What was that, anyway? It didn't look like any potions ingredient she'd ever seen or read about. She half suspected the reason he had it, displayed prominently on his desk, was that it looked suitably squicky and gruesome and added to the general aura of menace that surrounded him. That would be just like him. In fact…

"...is that not correct, Miss Granger?"

Hermione jumped, head snapping up to make contact with the dark eyes regarding her, one black eyebrow raised sardonically.

"I--that is..." she stammered, trying to think what he could be asking her.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for inattention, Miss Granger." In a voice practically dripping with sarcasm, he added, "Do try to tear your thoughts away from whatever undoubtedly profound subject occupies them today."

"Yes, sir," Hermione responded, eyes downcast. Perversely, she felt better. At least some things never changed.

_.i. _

_Dear Fairy Godfather,_

_I'm dreadfully afraid I've made an utter fool of myself. I'm not very clear what happened last night, but I think I might have actually thrown a dead newt at him, and I know I burst into tears. Him, of course, being Professor Snape. We had a lab meeting last night, and he said something—I really don't even remember what—and I lost it. I woke up this morning on the sofa in his office, with a blanket thrown over me, and I'm reasonably certain I sniveled all over his robes. I hope he wasn't completely appalled._

_Surprisingly, even red-eyed and stuffy-nosed, I feel a lot better. I think now I might actually be able to remember all the good things about my parents, instead of all the unresolved problems that now we never will work out. If nothing else, I'm all cried out; I just wonder why it was this happened with him, of all people._

_But after all, who can I talk to? You don't count, exactly—you don't ever talk back. I certainly can't talk to Ron and Harry; they've already got enough problems of their own to worry about. And Ginny wouldn't understand… Her family's so great. As for Parvati and Lavender, they might be great people for make-up advice, but I don't think I could handle their kind of sympathy. Too much gratuitous teariness._

_Really, though, the fact that I burst into tears last night isn't the odd thing. I've probably had it coming for a while. But why, of all things, was Professor Snape so—well, almost...nice...about it?__ I would've thought his usual response to crying females would be to toss them hastily out into the hallway_

_It seems, after all, that there is only one thing I can know for certain: no one will _ever_ believe me if I tell them that Professor Snape is actually a decent human being._

_Hermione_


End file.
